


You Will Still be Here Tomorrow

by enigma731



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 06:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11685825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731
Summary: There’s still a stubborn softness in her that comes to the surface around Peter, around Groot, like her very own flower pushing up through concrete. She’s starting to realize the value of it in situations like this.(Or, another Vol. 2 coda.)





	You Will Still be Here Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fennethianell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fennethianell/gifts).



> Inspired by [this gorgeous art.](http://fennethianell.tumblr.com/post/163376193267/phil-the-stone-can-we-consider-this-one-as-a) Everyone go look at it and tell Fen how awesome she is!

Gamora is in the hall when she hears it, which turns out to be fortunate. She’s been sorting through the supplies they’ve inherited from the Ravagers all evening, and finds herself pleasantly surprised by their current inventory. 

She’s about to retire to the bunk that she’s chosen for herself, adjacent to the captain’s quarters, when a loud bang stops her in her tracks. Peter’s been quiet since the fireworks started, but calm enough, surprising her with his composure. Still, she hasn’t been about to push, respects his boundaries every bit as much as he respects hers, no matter how concerned about him she might be. 

Now, though, she takes a few steps closer to his door, all of her senses on edge. For a few moments there’s nothing but quiet, then another _bang_ , clearly the sound of a blunt object hitting a wall. She stays where she is, torn between acting or pretending that she hasn’t heard. 

There’s silence for another few beats, and she’s about to dismiss the whole thing, about to go to bed, when another noise captures her attention. It’s indistinct at first, though it gives her an immediate sense of unease and she moves closer still, until she’s certain of what she’s hearing--the ragged, semi-rhythmic sounds of Peter sobbing, the absolute anguish of it clear even from this distance.

This time Gamora acts without even thinking about what she’s doing, sliding the door open and stepping into the room before it even occurs to her that it ought to have been locked. Inside, the room is dark and surprisingly large, only illuminated by the ambient light from the stars outside, plus one dim holo display in the far corner. Her eyes adjust quickly, though, and it doesn’t take her long to see that Peter is sitting at the edge of the large bed, slumped over with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as he cries. He’s barefoot, boots lying haphazardly on the floor by the wall, and she realizes the noises that originally got her attention must have been the sound of him throwing them. 

“Peter?” she asks hesitantly, taking half a step toward him. She has the distinct feeling that she’s intruding, that he probably doesn’t want anyone to be witnessing this. But now that she’s here, now that she _is_ , there’s no way she can simply pretend otherwise, no way she can leave him to go through it alone.

He doesn’t respond, so she tries again, saying his name twice more as she crosses the distance between them. When he stays hunched over, silent aside from the harsh sobs that cut the air every few seconds, Gamora finds herself kneeling in front of him, so that they would be practically on eye level were his face not hidden. 

Close enough to see and hear every detail of his grief, she hesitates again. It’s overwhelming, seeing how much he’s hurting, the way it practically radiates off of him, a human turned epicenter. There’s an undeniable part of her that’s terrified by this sort of raw emotion--though the irony of _that_ particular reaction isn’t lost on her either. She’s been trained to view it as a liability for as long as she can remember, has had her life depend on the ability to efficiently snuff it out. And yet she knows immediately, instinctively what she wants to do. There’s still a stubborn softness in her that comes to the surface around Peter, around Groot, like her very own flower pushing up through concrete. She’s starting to realize the value of it in situations like this.

“Peter,” she says once more, then reaches up and rests her hand over one of his where it’s obscuring his face. He tenses at first, making a noise of surprise, and for one terrible instant, she’s sure she’s overstepped and done the wrong thing.

But then he seems to make some sort of wordless decision, turns his palm over in hers and allows her to pull his hand away, allows her to see him utterly exposed.

He’s pale, eyes red-rimmed, and his expression is positively haunted. In an odd way it reminds her of Mantis, the wordless terror she’s been reading on the girl’s face, and Gamora feels vaguely sick.

“Come here,” she orders, because there’s nothing else she _can_ do, and leans in to wrap her free arm around his shoulders. 

Peter practically melts against her, shifting his weight further forward so that he can bury his face against her neck. A few short weeks ago, she wouldn’t have been able to so much as imagine herself doing this, and yet tonight it feels nothing but natural. She slips both arms around him, one hand toying with his hair while the other draws large, soothing circles on his back. Yesterday, she’d harbored a brief moment of jealousy for Mantis’s ability, for the power to unequivocally know what others are feeling, but tonight she has no need for it at all. Peter is grieving three losses all at once--the father who was present, if imperfectly; the one who has turned out to be nothing more than a monster; and the decisive end of the fantastical hope that someone better than either of them might still exist and be found.

When he pulls away again at last, he slides both hands down her arms until he can lace their fingers, like touching her is the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment. He still looks positively wrecked, she thinks, though slightly less desolate than before, which is a relief. She isn’t sure how she would cope if Peter lost his own inner light--the kind that has everything to do with his kindness, his incorrigible humor, and nothing to do with Celestial blood. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, the words no louder than a whisper. He stretches out a fingertip to trace the line of her jaw without ever letting go of her hand and she shivers.

She wants terribly to kiss him, the same familiar desire she’s been suppressing for weeks, spurred on now by everything that’s just happened. There are at least a half dozen reasons why she shouldn’t do it, but right now all she can think about is the undeniable love she wants to show him, and how close she came today to losing the chance forever.

She doesn’t give herself another chance to think about it, just acts on pure emotion as she leans in and kisses him, craning her neck up to meet his height. His lips taste faintly of tears, of loss, though the soft sound he makes against hers feels like so much more. It doesn’t last long, because he’s still out of breath, but it’s terribly intense, leaves her reeling in the best possible way.

“Stay?” he asks hoarsely when he breaks away, one hand carefully brushing her chin, though it’s also shaking in hers. 

“As long as you want,” she promises, and allows him to pull her in this time, as though _she_ might become his shield against the world.


End file.
